


Drunk on a Tuesday

by Patriceavril



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Best Friends, Canon Compliant, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27409957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patriceavril/pseuds/Patriceavril
Summary: Regulus tells Sirius that their uncle has died. When Sirius doesn’t turn up for class, James finds him drunk out by the lake and comforts him.
Relationships: Regulus Black & Sirius Black, Sirius Black & James Potter
Kudos: 9





	Drunk on a Tuesday

March 8, 1977

“Sirius, can I talk to you for a minute?”

The sound of that voice behind him, so familiar despite its marked absence during the past six months, struck Sirius as so strange and implausible that he almost assumed he had imagined it. Turning to confirm his suspicion, he took in the very real sight of his brother Regulus, staring down at his feet and wearing a grim expression. His pale skin and the slight redness around his eyes made him appear vulnerable and, somehow, younger. 

Startled into momentary silence by his brother’s unexpected approach, Sirius finally regained his composure enough to reply. 

“Yeah, all right,” he muttered, then turned and gestured for his friends to go on without him. “Tell McGonagall I’ll be there in a minute,” he called before returning to face Regulus. “I thought you told me not to fucking talk to you again.” The memory of their last conversation still stung, much as Sirius might pretend otherwise.

Regulus seemed not to hear. With what seemed a supreme effort, he raised his eyes to meet his brother’s gaze. “I wanted to tell you that Uncle Alphard died. I got an owl from Mom and Dad this morning. I know they wouldn’t have written to you about it, and I thought you had a right to know.” He appeared slightly diminished after this pronouncement, as if speaking the words aloud had cost him physically. He waited for Sirius to respond, perhaps expecting a rush of anger, or less likely, a great outpouring of grief, but Sirius greeted his words with only numb silence. After waiting awkwardly for a reaction that never came, Regulus continued.

“The funeral is Saturday. I, er, I don’t think you should come. It would make things a lot easier for everyone if you’re not there. But I guess I thought you should have the chance to decide for yourself.” He fell silent again, giving Sirius a chance to make some reply, but, met with only stony silence, he plowed on.

“This doesn’t change what I said before. After this conversation, don’t try to talk to me. If you come to the funeral, don’t approach me or Mum and Dad. As far as we’re concerned, you’re not part of the family. I don’t even really know why I’m telling you this, except I know Uncle Alphard liked you, and I guess it just seemed like the right thing to do, somehow.” 

Regulus met Sirius’s eyes again briefly, hesitating another moment to see if his brother would make any sort of reply, then turned and began walking away. Only then did Sirius manage to force words through his uncooperative lips.

“Reg, wait!” he called, and Regulus stopped and turned to face him. “Are you okay?” His voice contained a hint of the same raw vulnerability he had spotted in Regulus’s eyes, stripped of the anger and venom he usually used to mask his pain. 

Regulus made no reply. His face had closed down and his mouth was set in a grim line. He turned his back on his brother’s pain and walked away from the wreckage of their relationship without looking back.

Sirius stood there for a minute, barely aware of where he was or what he should do next. Idly he thought of his Transfiguration class; he should be there now, seated between James and Remus like always.  _ McGonagall’s going to be livid when I don’t turn up,  _ Sirius mused with a pang of regret; loath though he was to admit it to her, he had a respect for Professor McGonagall that bordered on reverence, and he secretly tried to avoid disappointing her. However, there was no question of him going to class, and indeed, it was now perfectly clear to him that there was only one thing for him to do. Jamming his hands into his pockets, he strode quickly in the direction of Gryffindor Tower, glad to have a plan and a purpose. On this Tuesday afternoon, he was going to get well and truly drunk.

“I wonder what Regulus wanted,” James muttered, pulling his Transfiguration homework out of his bag and trying in vain to smooth the crumpled parchment. 

“I dunno, but Padfoot better hurry up if he doesn’t want detention,” Remus replied, eyeing the empty chair between them. 

When ten minutes had elapsed and Sirius had not appeared, James started to get worried. After five more minutes, he grew desperate enough to ask McGonagall for permission to search for his missing friend, although she was not remotely inclined to grant his request.

“Absolutely not, Mr. Potter! Just because Mr. Black has chosen not to grace us with his

presence today does not mean I am going to further disrupt the class by allowing you to go on a wild goose chase to locate him.”

“But Professor, you don’t understand! This is his favorite class - he’d never admit it, but I think he even looks forward to it a bit. So he wouldn’t just skip class for no reason-”

“Be that as it may, Potter,” she interrupted sternly, although James thought she looked rather flattered in spite of herself, “we have work to do, and I will allow no further interruptions.”

Her tone made it clear that the discussion was finished, so he slumped down in his seat and tried to force himself to focus on the lesson rather than imagining what misfortunes could have befallen his absent friend.

After class, they hurried back to the common room, but there was no sign of Sirius in his usual chair by the fire, so they checked the dormitory, but found it empty. 

“Do you think he might have just gone down to dinner early?” Peter asked hopefully.

“Or maybe he’s with Mary?” Remus said.

“I’ll check the map,” James said, unconvinced by either suggestion. 

He pulled out the Marauder’s Map and said, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” then scanned it, checking first the Great Hall and then all Sirius’s typical snogging spots, but as he had predicted, his friend was nowhere to be found. Remus and Peter peered over his shoulder to help, and after another minute, Peter pointed triumphantly at a spot on the grounds. 

“There he is, out by the lake.” He frowned. “What’s he doing out there?”

“Who the hell knows,” Remus answered, shrugging. “What do you reckon, Prongs? Should we all go after him, do you think?”

James paused, considering, then shook his head. “Nah, I’ve got this. If I’m not back in an hour, come find us, all right?” he said, heading for the door. 

He moved at a brisk pace, reaching the lake in record time. He glanced around and quickly spotted Sirius seated on the ground under a beech tree. He leaned back against the trunk with his long legs splayed out in front of him, smoking a cigarette and seemingly unbothered by the chilly March wind although he wore only his leather jacket.

“Hullo, Prongs,” he said, as James approached and sat down next to him. James could tell from the slight slur in his speech and the languid way he held his cigarette that Sirius was very drunk. 

“Hi, Padfoot,” he said, grabbing Sirius’s pack of cigarettes that rested on the ground on top of a flask and helping himself to one.

“What happened to no smoking during the Quidditch season?” Sirius asked, raising his eyebrows.

James shrugged. “I’ll make an exception,” he said, lighting his cigarette and taking a long drag. The two sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, watching the smoke from their cigarettes curl away into the evening air, before Sirius finally spoke.

“I’m fairly drunk,” he observed, as if this thought had just occurred to him.

“I’ve noticed.”

“Drunk before 5:00,” he continued, nodding. “On a… what day is it?”

“It’s Tuesday.”

“Drunk before five on a Tuesday. On a fucking Tuesday!” He drank from the flask to emphasize his point, then held it out to James, who shrugged and took a sip.

“Was McGonagall angry?” Sirius asked.

“You’re on her shit list at the moment, I’d say,” James replied. “I expect she’ll give you detention and that will be the end of it.”

After this brief burst of conversation, the two lapsed into silence again. James stubbed out his cigarette and rubbed his hands together to warm them, then took another sip from the flask more for the burning heat it produced in his throat than from any desire to get drunk. He had been right to come alone, he mused, because when Sirius was in this sort of mood he would eventually spill his guts, but only if allowed to do so at his leisure. James had become adept at sitting quietly and waiting out his friend’s moody silences, but Remus and Peter usually couldn’t resist asking prying, leading questions that would only drive Sirius deeper into himself.

Finally, as James knew he would, Sirius sighed and broke the silence once again. “Regulus got an owl from our parents today,” he began, lighting another cigarette deftly despite his level of intoxication. “Our uncle Alphard died. He wanted to tell me, even though he doesn’t consider me a brother anymore, because he figured nobody else would tell me and he reckons I have a right to know.” He took a long drag on his cigarette and breathed it out slowly before continuing. “I guess that’s decent of him, even if he’s still a git.”

“I’m sorry, Padfoot,” James said, taken aback, because this was not at all what he’d anticipated. “You always said he was all right, didn’t you?” 

“Yeah, he was,” Sirius said, nodding. “He took me to my first Quidditch game. I was eight. He was a diehard Chudley Cannons fan, so I decided I was too. We had a great time, but the Cannons lost.”

“That’s ‘cause they’re terrible,” James couldn’t help adding, but Sirius glared at him and he quieted at once.

“So the Cannons lost, and I was heartbroken. I fucking cried, Prongs- absolutely inconsolable. I know, I know, there’s no crying in Quidditch, or whatever it is you tell your team, but I was eight. So anyway, my uncle just looked at me, and I’ll never forget this. He said, ‘Sirius, sometimes your team wins, and it’s the best feeling in the world, but sometimes they lose, and it breaks your heart, but that’s Quidditch, and the joy of winning makes the pain of losing worth it every time.’” 

“Shit, he’s right,” James said, nodding appreciatively. “Smart bloke, even if he was a Chudley Cannons fan.”

“Fuck off, Prongs,” Sirius said, grinning. He took another drag on his cigarette, then continued.

“He didn’t buy into all that blood purity bullshit my parents were always going on about, either. Mind you, he never lost his temper and told them what he really thought about it all, like I did - I think he knew it was a waste of breath. He’d just refuse to be drawn into the conversation, or he’d change the subject to something completely unrelated and silly - Quidditch, the weather, Bertie Botts flavors. Then he’d look over and wink at me, and it would be all I could do to keep from laughing. One Christmas my mother was really on a roll, and he said to her, happy and calm as you please, ‘Walburga, could you stick a sock in it? I’m trying to enjoy my pudding.’” He smiled. “I’m surprised she didn’t blast him off the tapestry for that, honestly, but she deprived him of our company for a year, so I suppose she considered that punishment enough.” He rolled his eyes. “He wrote to me, you know. After I ran away. He told me he didn’t give a damn what my mother said, that as far as he was concerned, I would always be part of the Black family.” 

“He sounds like a good guy,” James said.

“Yeah, he was,” Sirius repeated. “Besides my cousin Andromeda, he’s really the only one in my family I still liked, after everything that happened when I left.” He smoked in silence for a minute, struggling to put his feelings into words. “It’s just, I don’t know if he knew that, you know?” His voice broke slightly, and his face was stripped of his everyday haughty indifference or even the smoldering, restless frustration that sometimes led to sudden, violent bursts of fury, revealing a rare glimpse of his raw, unguarded pain. James looked down at his hands, because it almost hurt physically to see his friend like this.

“I don’t think there’s any doubt that he knew how you felt,” James began, after taking a deep breath and gathering his thoughts. “Because you don’t exactly make it a secret if you don’t like someone, and it works the other way, too.” He ran a hand through his hair, thinking. “I mean, you don’t go around every day telling me and Moony and Wormtail what great friends we are and how much you appreciate and care about us - if you did, we’d probably ask you if you were on drugs or Confunded or both - but you don’t have to say it because we just know. So I expect it was the same with your uncle.”

Sirius’s mouth twitched up into the barest hint of a smile. “I suppose you’re right.” He raised the flask in the air and said, “To Uncle Alphard,” then drank deeply and passed it to James, who repeated the toast and took a smaller sip.

“The funeral is Saturday,” Sirius said, frowning. “Regulus reckons I shouldn’t go, but I dunno, I feel like it would be disrespectful to my uncle if I don’t. Still, I expect my mother will make a scene if I dare to show my face.”

“Well, if you’re already going to be causing a scene, you may as well bring your blood traitor friends with you, so you can really make a splash,” James said, grinning.

Sirius met his gaze. “You don’t have to-” he began, but James cut him off.

“Don’t be stupid, of course we’re going. I told you, we’re your family now, and you’re stuck with us whether you like it or not.”

Sirius’s face broke into a huge grin, and he appeared so absurdly grateful that James feared for a moment that he was about to see his friend cry. The moment passed, however, and Sirius simply said, “Thanks, Prongs,” and fell silent again. 

“You know,” James began thoughtfully, “I’m not sure if this will make you feel better or worse, but I’m just going to put it out there because ‘Act first, think later’ is kind of my thing. I know Regulus said all that rubbish about how you’re no longer his brother and he doesn’t think you should go to the funeral. But if he really didn’t want you to go, why tell you about it at all? If he doesn’t still care about you, why would he bother telling you about your uncle dying? Whatever he says, whatever he tells your parents, whatever bullshit he repeats to try and convince himself, I think on some level he’ll always care about you. Just like even though you’re angry at him and think he’s a git, I think you still care about him, too.” James fell silent, watching Sirius’s face to see how he would respond to these rambling remarks.

“I don’t know if it makes me feel better or worse, either, to be honest,” Sirius admitted, after taking a long drag on his cigarette and appearing to mull the matter over. “But either way, I think you’re right.” He frowned thoughtfully and continued smoking in silence for several more minutes.

When James could no longer feel his toes and he considered suggesting they return to the castle, Sirius broke the silence again.

“I’m sorry, Prongs.” He sighed and attempted to swig from the flask, but, finding it empty, flung it away in irritation.

“It’s all right, we have more firewhisky back in the dormitory,” said James indifferently.

“No,” he replied, shaking his head slowly. “I am completely unapologetic about drinking the firewhisky.” He pronounced each word carefully, in the manner of a very drunk person attempting to avoid sounding drunk. “I mean, I’m sorry that I do  _ this.” _

James waited for clarification, but when none seemed to be forthcoming, he prompted, “Do what, exactly?”

“Fall apart. Lose my shit. Punch a wall or get ridiculously drunk or do something else equally stupid, and you’re left to pick up the pieces. It’s not really fair, is it?” He wore a sad, apologetic smile.

“You don’t need to apologize,” James said firmly. “It’s not a matter of what’s fair or not fair. It’s just what we do. Just like you guys listen to me go on and on about Evans, and then have to talk me round when I make a fool of myself in front of her. Just like we worked our arses off for three years so we can make full moon easier for Moony. Just like we look out for Wormtail and make sure nobody fucks with him, because we all know he can’t duel for shit. We have each other's backs, cause we’re the Marauders, damnit!” He punched his fist into his open palm for emphasis.

“That sounds like one of your Quidditch pump up speeches,” Sirius said, rolling his eyes, but he looked considerably more cheerful.

“Yeah, well, it seemed like you could use a pump up speech,” James said, shrugging. “What do you think, should we head back to the castle? I’m freezing, and we’re out of booze.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Sirius assented. “I’m going to need a hand up, though.”

After several unsuccessful attempts, James hoisted Sirius to his feet and placed an arm around him despite mumbled protests, and they began to head in the direction of the castle, walking slowly and unsteadily.

“Hey Prongs?” Sirius said, after narrowly avoiding tripping over his own feet and bringing both boys down in the process.

“Yeah?” James replied, slightly out of breath as a result of his efforts to keep Sirius on his feet. 

“Thanks for this. And for everything.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And also, you’re a great friend and I appreciate and care about you and all that rubbish. And before you ask, I am neither on drugs nor Confunded, although I am fairly drunk.”

“Glad to hear it, Padfoot. Now shut up and concentrate on staying upright, yeah?” He couldn’t help grinning, however, and felt that for the time being anyway, things were going to be okay. 

  
  
  



End file.
